


Blind ambitions

by Queenofthefaceless



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bottom Din Djarin, F/M, Gen, Handcuffs, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28094367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthefaceless/pseuds/Queenofthefaceless
Summary: Weeks after befriending you, a former Mandalorian, one particular evening, Din learns how to voice his desires in a rather unconventional way.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 106





	Blind ambitions

He enters the cockpit as per usual. Only this time, something does seem changed.

His breathing comes out ragged and even insecure, his entire body aching all over. He feels his heart flutter in his rib cage, yet he cannot fathom the reason behind it. He had always been composed, rational and calculated.

Why was he suddenly so much more alert and painfully aware of his surroundings? It felt as if he had come alive for the very first time.

"The kid's asleep, I wrapped him in that grey blanket you had next to him, I hope that's - " a now familiar voice said behind him, entering the cockpit as well.

You stopped right away upon laying your eyes on him. He was still struggling to breathe, his armor was scratched and his cape was torn apart in certain places. The last detail you noticed was that he was handcuffed. You immediately panicked, but wouldn't allow yourself to look as startled as you truly were.

"What the hell happened out there?" you demanded.

"Crossfire. Some sort of... riot. I couldn't get to... _ah_."

He was grunting and panting and you realized within a second that he must've been injured. Though you learned over the past few weeks that the Mandalorian was not one to voice his thoughts at all and keep himself on the quiet side, you reckoned this would be yet another instance where he will refuse any help.

"Thank you for taking care of the kid," he muttered, struggling to sit in his chair.

There was a brief moment of silence, and he could quite literally feel his heart pumping like crazy in his chest.

"Are you injured?" you asked.

He hesitated.

"I can take a look."

"You can't."

You huffed.

"I know, I - I only meant... I could help you. I won't remove the helmet."

He remained silent for a bit. He couldn't quite discern what prompted him to be so hesitant, so reluctant with the ways he had been using for years now. Meeting you, someone willing to befriend and help him with the Child for free no less... it was making his mind swirl around in painful circles. He had half a mind before he threw you out once, afraid you might hurt the Child, but he soon realized after that that was not your intention. Curiously, he was never worried that you might hurt him. Mostly because he figured he would be stronger than you, but alas.

Unbeknownst to you, he gulped, a painful knot in his throat, unsure as to where things were heading.

"I can't remove these handcuffs and I need to burn off some scars, so if you'd step outside while I - "

You knelled before him, a sight which caused him to gulp again for reasons mysterious to him, and took a look at the metal handcuffs wrapped tightly around his wrists. When you tried to touch them, they shocked you.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a tone rather alert.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright. Those things are fine technology. Not sure if I can take them off without electrocuting myself again or hurting you, but... I could try."

You heard him grunt again and you thought his wounds were hurting him much more than what he displayed.

"But I can definitely help you with those wounds."

You looked at him as if begging him to agree with you. You wanted to help him. That was all there was to it. You had no intention of harming him. You had no intention to disrespect his religion or his kind. Surely you had been curious as to what he must've looked like underneath that helmet, you tried piecing together some bits, but it was an image that failed to render completion in the end.

So you surrendered the idea.

Then you saw him nod shortly, and your hands froze. You saw the bleeding through the soft fabric uncovered with the beskar. There was no way to remove the armor with his hands together. 

Unless - 

"I need to cut the, uh - "

You gestured to his upper half of the body, and you could hear a soft sigh on his part before nodding again.

With mind suddenly blurry and movements robotic, you grabbed a knife from your personal stash and returned to the cockpit. You stood in the entrance for several seconds, soaking up the image.

The Mandalorian was now sitting in his chair, handcuffed, head lowered into the ground, panting and in need for help. It stirred something inside of you that you had no clue what it was or where it came from, but suddenly your breathing came out rushed and ragged as well.

You approached him and, with a vaguely insecure hand, began cutting through the cloth and carefully removing the chest armor and the shoulder patches until there was nothing but... skin. So human and natural.

The Mandalorian's skin, scarred and yet unveiling a beautiful melanin to it, was right there before you, his entire upper half exposed to you, vulnerable, and all you could think about was how to avoid inflicting any more pain upon him.

"Some of these didn't heal properly," you remarked, looking at him with genuine concern.

"I don't have time to take care of each and every scar," he grunted.

"I'll see what I can do."

There was a brief moment of silence again before you began cleaning his open wounds, either preparing to cauterize them or sow them up, at the same time doing your absolute best to gather your thoughts and to focus strictly on his wounds and not on how marvelous his skin looked, even with all the damage to it, how nicely defined and toned he was.

"You said you used to be a Mandalorian," he cooed, thankful for his helmet's voice modulator that failed to give out his insecurity.

It seemingly was an attempt to distract you - and possibly even himself - from the situation, but you especially embraced it gladly.

"I was."

"What made you turn rogue?"

You stared at him, exchanging a playful look with him.

"I took off my helmet when I was told to hunt down my one and only friend for a crime she did not commit. She got involved with the wrong crowd, but it was not her fault. She had no idea of the magnitude of things in which she had gotten involved. I refused to bring her in. They all warned me, of course. Gave me the whole speech about how if you remove the helmet, you may never put it back on, you will fall in disgrace and all that. I did it anyway, and... I left."

He listened to the story with the same large and painful knot in his throat, relating to the events to a certain extent. He had never questioned his beliefs and his religion before, not once.

But as of lately, he found himself doing it more often.

"So you betrayed your brothers and sisters for someone else? A stranger?"

"Call it betrayal if you want, but that is not what it represented to me. To me, it was friendship and bravery. Loyalty. I spared an innocent life. Life which, granted, the other Mandalorians ended themselves a few days later, but I did what I believed most in."

"I'm sorry."

"Except you're not. Not really. You still don't fully get it. And I understand that. But haven't you met anyone, ever, anyone that would make you bend the Creed? Anyone that would make you believe with all your heart that it would be worth it? Anyone whom you might deem as worthy of the risk?"

The Mandalorian faltered, turning his head away as if in shame. Him, as a human being, as a man... he paid no more attention to his physical attributes than he did to his general attire. He only knew how to hunt, kill and torture. Nothing more.

"I'll take that hesitation as a yes," you said, still tending to his wounds.

"I'm not judging you. If anything, I was just... curious."

As you worked through the wounds, gentle and careful not to cause any more damage, you could feel the stiffness in his chest and arms, how tense he felt to be this close to another human being that was not out to get him and so exposed, no less.

It made no difference to him that it was the helmet or any other part of his armor. He still felt exposed and empty.

There was a certain tension to your fingers as well, but you refused to let it show. 

All the while, the Mandalorian kept watching you from behind his helmet, soaking up every inch of you and your movements, how temperate you were and how hard you tried to accustom your every gesture to his own needs. But in all honesty, he had almost no clue what his needs or his wishes were outside a battlefield.

He failed to recall if he had any at all.

He maintained the silence, holding his breath as if somehow that would ease the tension in his body. Alas, as you lightly touched his arm and went up in order to simply adjust your position, electric shocks went through him, infiltrating his veins, burning him. He was unfamiliar with that sensation, with any sort of human touch, and he was ridiculously afraid for the second time in his life, but he did not flinch.

Or so he liked to believe.

You removed your hand from his arm at last, fingertips almost burning at the touch.

"These should heal faster now," you spoke in a low-pitched voice.

"Thank you. You're very kind."

His voice, even with the modulator, felt much like honey dripping down on skin. You looked away from him now, eyes secured instead on the place you believed his face was, and you huffed, perhaps a tad louder than you intended to.

"I'll let you rest."

His fingers unexpectedly caught yours, tugging at your hand with what felt like desperation and a neediness that transcended your imagination and skin alike.

You looked at him from above, wondering yet again what facial expression resided underneath the helmet, what thoughts were racing in his mind.

"What is it?" you asked.

"I - uh - "

His voice was unsure was, much to your shock, was _breaking_. You knelled once more before him, brows furrowed with confusion as you searched the helmet for some sort of answer that failed to be rendered.

"I can... stay a bit longer if you'd like to. If you... want me to."

The timidity between the two of you was blown out of proportions. He cleared his throat and attempted to break free from the handcuffs, but to no avail. He struggled further on, agitating his hands relentlessly, but you had to put an end to it by taking his hands into yours.

"Stop that, you'll hurt yourself," you scolded him.

"I'm already hurt, why does it matter?"

"It does."

Something about him being helpless to a certain extent made you whimper and it pained you seeing him so. A foreign instinct roared inside of you and, as a result, you gathered some of the pieces of the clothing you cut before and straddled on his lap just enough so you can place them on his chest, but it wasn't enough.

You weren't enough, he realized. 

He looked at you in awe, letting a ragged breath out before moving his leg more to your comfort.

You ceased any movement, breathless. 

"What are you doing?" you whispered, hands placed on his chest, feeling it rise up and down under your touch once air entered and left his lungs.

 _He was nervous_ , you suddenly apprehended. 

"I - I don't know," he replied shyly.

The response took both of you by surprise, but even in the moment, you didn't move. You were almost too frightened to move, to shift away from him, to break contact with you.

You were, at the very least, honest with yourself. 

You had longed for minimal contact with the Mandalorian from your very first encounter. You have seen other Mandalorians and you have lived among them, you have been one, but this one in particular was... _appealing_. You told yourself it was just the voice, just his protective instincts over a foundling and you, respectively, but it was much more than that. It was surely his humanity, the way he was so sweet and gentle in spite of his killer instincts, a humanity that you reckoned even he was unaware of carrying in on his sleeve.

You felt your skin itch and burn all at once, the pressure being so intense it could've caused you actual physical pain.

"It felt... right," he struggled to explain. "Not that I've ever... been with a... another Mandalorian."

You furrowed your brows, listening to his every words, said with caution and fear.

"You've never... spoken about what you want or... think of, have you?"

He fell into a deep silence, cohering you indirectly to interpret the moment just as he would've said the words to compensate. You grazed your fingers across his bare chest, hearing him gasp and try to hold his breath, and you realized, with jolt and pleasant surprise that he was incredibly responsive to you.

 _He wants me_ , you dared to flatter yourself.

For an agonizing, lingering second, your hands traveled from his chest to his head, each lying on the sides, anxious to remove the helmet and visualize the man behind it, the man behind the muscles and the pain, but you stopped yourself before he could do any action to prevent it.

Taken aback by your own control, you smiled bitterly.

"I know. I remember."

"I - "

"I'm sorry for the impulse gesture."

"It's... alright."

"Even though I know it is forbidden... even though I know I can't see you... it's only you and I here. You can talk to me, Mando. That alone won't hurt. I won't hurt you. That's a promise."

It was not the hasty shift of control you entrusted him with that he was shaken by, but your last words. 

_I promise,_ you had told him honestly. _I won't hurt you._

He had never felt so broken by mere words, nor had he ever felt so disarmed and shaken by someone. You managed to send shivers down his spine and make his skin crawl and now, for the very first time, he could not stop staring at you.

"There's so much more to you than being a bounty hunter," you continued.

"You... can't see me. No one can. I - I wish you could."

It was your turn to be stunned at the confession. All you could do was stare in return at him, imagining a pair of deep, warm eyes staring right back at you, filled with unspoken desires waiting to come crawling to the surface, desperate to cling onto your flesh.

“I can close my eyes,” you suggested in a heartbeat, mentally cursing at yourself for the stupid suggestion. “I won’t peek. I – I won’t look.”

“Why do you even want to see me, Y/N?”

“I thought it was obvious,” you whispered, nearly breathless.

Even with his hands tied together, the Mandalorian found the power to move you even closer in his lap, his skin touching yours now. You nearly shattered at the first touch.

“Remove the rest of the armor,” he said in a deep, coarse voice, which left no room for further discussion.

You found yourself in utter shock at his words. Every moment since he stepped onto the ship seemed like a dream to you, and yet this part, this damned part, made you explode into a million pieces. You realized what he sought, where he was heading with this – it was where you never allowed yourself to go in the first place.

With increased and unsteady breaths, you followed his instruction and removed the rest of the cloths covering his lower body, as well as the Beskar. It was seldom that he allowed anyone near him in this way – especially in _this way_ – so you ensured to make every second count, for the both of you.

It took you a while before you were able to pull all clothing away from his body, including the muddy combat boots he always seemed to wore, but when you finally did, there was nothing left to cover the man but his helmet and his undergarment. Your cheeks reddened all of a sudden, taking notice of how _hard_ he was already. You did the same motions with your own clothing, removing the lose shirt and the linen pants and undergarments, and lied before him as the maker itself brought you into the world.

Behind the helmet, Din Djarin was more than blushing – he was downright close to having a heart attack. He wasn’t all that familiar with the ways of intimacy, yet he still had feelings. He still had needs. Which, truth be told, he never considered voicing until now. Until _you_ , that is.

He knew what he wanted in spite of everything he was.

“Take that cloth,” he said out of the blue, “and, uh… tie it… tie around your eyes.”

Staggered, you followed yet again the instruction and took one of the smaller pieces of his cloth and secured it around your eyes with a double knot. With your sight now gone, you felt your heart race faster than ever before, adrenaline rushing through your veins, offering you an excitement like never before.

“Now trace with your hands… my helmet… and take – take it off.”

His voice cracked as he struggled to finish his sentence, and it was the same tension you felt as you helped sew up his wounds.

“Mando - "

“You won’t see me. It’s – it’s alright. I want you to take the helmet off.”

It was painfully obvious how nervous and scared the Mandalorian himself was. You parted your lips with a hidden anticipation you could barely comprehend, and reached out blindly to where you remembered his helmet was. Shaky hands touched the metal gently until, slowly but surely, you removed it with a click and gasped when you finally touched the face now unveiled before you.

Hearing as he made no disapproving sound, you continued to lightly trace the skin, bidding to construct a clear image of the man before you. You touched his lips, gasping, then ran your fingers over a stubble on his cheeks, feeling more and more overwhelmed.

“Y/N,” he grunted.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, immediately taking your hands away. “I’m sorry.”

“Will you – will you…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Alas, you felt as if you understood his gagged request all the same. Swiftly, you felt much like the Mandalorian himself, hidden beneath a fabric, a material that separates his emotions from the world. But you were all too nervous to fully relate. You leaned over until you felt his breath over you, causing you to tremble, and pressed your lips against his.

 _Oh, stars and galaxies_ – you thought.

He opened his mouth to welcome yours within the first moment and his lips were so soft, so beautifully soft, you nearly moaned into the kiss. Your hands touched the sides of his face, almost as if pleading to keep him more still, but you could only focus on his mouth, the sweetness of it, how hot and wet it felt against yours, how timid and careful it was. You could even feel the stiffness in his body, the hesitation in his moves and how much he wanted to perform admirably, much like when he was a bounty hunter.

But you were no prey, he knew that. This was no ransom, no bounty. It felt much heavier to him, a task which needed much more concentration and finesse, which he feared he lacked thereof. As you kissed him deeply, he seemed to be losing pieces of his mind one by one, memories of his past now foggy, his head filled with only you, and all the ways he would’ve loved to treat you wonderfully.

You only stopped to get a breath of air, head slightly thrown back, chest moving up and down struggling to breathe properly. Unbeknownst to you, he was watching your every gesture in awe, his lower body now igniting a nearly painful flame within, a pain that couldn’t be extinguished by a mere kiss.

“Y/N -” he panted, burying his neck into the crook of your neck.

The touch of his stubble on your skin sent shivers down your spine, electric spikes which tormented your body, and you grew heavier with desire. You refused to spare any more time.

The touch of his stubble on your skin sent shivers down your spine, electric spikes which tormented your body, and you grew heavier with desire. You refused to spare any more time.

“Talk to me, Mando,” you said. “Say what you want to say.”

“ _Please_ … I – I want you to… to move…”

You smirked to yourself. You wouldn’t have thought such a day would come that you would hear a Mandalorian _begging_. Not this one, at the very least.

His voice wasn’t even demanding or coarse anymore. It was plain needy, desperate. And the thought of a Mandalorian being on the edge, driven insane by your simplest touches, made your cheeks flush and your whole body burn.

You changed your position once again, this time legs spread across his lap, and one of your hands carefully brushed against his hardened shaft, guiding it inside of you. As you slowly thrust him inside of you, he let out a whimper so low, so eased, that it caused you to moan almost simultaneously. You began to move your hips in circles, teasing, and you crossed your arms around his neck, feeling his face buried in your chest once more.

Your lack of vision made it even more enticing; you wished however you could see his facial expressions, stare into his eyes, admire his soft and luscious lips, but you quite savored the sounds he was making; here and there some grunts, possibly some whispered, messy curses he meant to keep to himself. You only changed the movements when you felt his hands desperately trying to get out of the handcuffs, presumably guide you where and how he wanted you, so you began moving up and down, not too fast and not too slow. You arched your back as you felt him go deeper and deeper, almost reaching that sweet spot you seemingly had forgotten about.

“F-Faster,” he muttered, forehead seeking to lock with yours.

You felt his breath on you, ragged and demanding in a certain way, and smiled briefly.

“As you wish,” you replied raggedly.

The words were more than sufficient to drive him insane, but when you did start to move faster up and down on him, he felt the burn of a thousand suns in his belly, burning him with a thriving flame so intensely he could’ve easily blacked out.

He kept mumbling _“Yes, yes, yes, please, yes”_ endlessly, and with only a few more thrusts, he sensed his whole body implode, and made it known to you as well with a rather loud moan, messy and raw.

“You’re… you did amazing,” he told you.

You were still moving, eager to reach your own high, and he was by no means opposing to that. You were panting now, growing more impatient, and when you felt his hips thrust slightly upwards with an effort to help you, your mouth seemed to had naturally found his and dash into an erotic dance of their own. You moaned into the kiss as you reached your high at last, body shaking from the intensity, and only then you found it in your willpower to stop your movements.

You remained in his lap, head on his shoulder, blindfold untouched, and with the Mandalorian still inside of you.

“I’d like to stay like this for ages,” you whispered somewhere at his chest.

“I promise you, when I get out of these handcuffs, we can give it a try.”

You smiled, and so did he.


End file.
